


Meeting half-way

by GwenChan



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Victor Nikiforov, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Lube, M/M, Post-Canon, Top Katsuki Yuuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:28:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9170803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwenChan/pseuds/GwenChan
Summary: Yuri's ashamed of sleeping in the same bed with Victor. However the reason is the opposite of a problem.





	

**Meeting half-way**

 

Sometimes Victor sleeps on the couch. It’s not a “post-fight” kind of sleeping on the couch. Simply sometimes he knocks-out while watching some Russian sit-com at night or reading those skating magazines where he almost always features and he just happens to be on the couch. He curls up, snoring lightly, Makkachin at his feet.

Had he been stronger, Yuri would carry his fiancé back to bed, but the only thing he can do is covering Victor with a blanket, carefully tucking him in.

Yuri finds himself thinking about all the times this has happened when Victor was living alone and there was no one to cover him. It feels almost sad and lonely.

Sometimes it’s Yuri to pass out on the couch, after a particularly long and exhausting day of practice, sated with a good meal. No matter how much of a night bird he is, sometimes sleepiness wins. Those times, still halfway between dream and reality, Yuri can feel strong arms lifting him, followed by the familiar warmth and cosiness of his bed. He happily rolls under the covers, as Victor kisses him goodnight on the top of his head.

 _Their_ bed.

At the beginning of his life in St. Petersburg, Yuri used to sleep in the guest room. It was small, but comfortable and he could decorate it so that it reminded him of Hasetsu. He put his favourite books on the shelves, added little knick-and-knacks here and there to make it feel like home.

At the beginning he didn’t even dare to enter Victor’s bedroom, just peeking inside when the door was left open. He switched on the light with trembling hands, peering at the bed, the wardrobe, the posters on the wall and the little objects in Victor’s most personal space in the entire house.

Victor’s room is full of light. Not only it’s exposed at East, with a big window to capture the most of the morning sun, but there’s also a big lamp on the ceiling and others, smaller, scattered all around.

One day Yuri will ask Victor if he’s afraid of the dark.

Yes, at the beginning he was too nervous to even think about sleeping with Victor in his bedroom, so he shifted away. Then, with those gestures so small they often come unnoticed, things changed. It’s not a decision taken one day out of nowhere. It’s not that one day Yuri decided to transfer in Victor’s bedroom.

It’s just that, well, sometimes he had to enter the room to retrieve this stuff or that that Victor had borrowed like it was the most natural thing in the world. Yuri’s hands tremble when he shoots to the chair next to the bed, takes his jacket and exits.

It’s nice how that jacket would smell of Victor’s cologne for days after.

Sometimes, well, Victor’s sick so Yuri is forced to enter his bedroom if he wants to take care of him. He watches Victor trembling in his sweatpants and sweater, feverish, as he changes the sweaty bed sheets as fast as he can.

One day, when Yuri’s heart has stopped jumping every time he puts foot in the room, they spend the evening chatting, talking about skating and that kind of silly stuff you don’t remember the morning after, and it’s so warm that Yuri’s chest stings when he has to go back to his room.

It starts to get lonely.

One day he drops asleep without noticing, legs to his abdomen, hugging what he’ll discover being Victor’s chest the morning after. He drowns in embarrassment, hiding behind the cup of coffee at six in the morning before practice.

“You’re soft,” is all Victor says.

When Victor starts to carry him to his bedroom, not Yuri’s bedroom, when Yuri falls asleep on the couch, the Japanese guesses they may start talking this out.

“I … we … should start to sleep … together. In the same bed… I mean,” he stutters on the words, fingers drawing circles on the brim of his glass.

Victor beams with happiness.

They have already slept together, in truth, in Beijing and Barcelona, but this is different. Pushing two single beds together is not quite the same of sleeping in the same king-sized bed and Victor’s bed is strange. It’s way too big to be considered a single, but it’s still not big enough to be a full king-sized. It isn’t meant for one person more than it is for two people.

“Which side do you usually sleep on?” Yuri asks, nervousness in his voice, standing at the door. Victor shrugs, wondering.

“I don’t know. I usually sleep in the middle”. He pauses. “Right. I’ll sleep on the right side,” he decides. Yuri smiles. “So I guess I’ll sleep on the left.”

Yuri doesn’t know well how he is when sleeping. Or, he knows enough to worry and being ashamed. Phichith swore Yuri snored, back in Detroit, and Mari said he’s a restless sleeper.

So he sleeps on the edge of the mattress, an arm under his cheek until he starts to feel pins and needles.

Yuri’s afraid of showing his most uncontrolled and inelegant side, the one that jerks for a nightmare or drools open-mouthy on the pillow. More than everything he’s perfectly aware of what effects Victor’s proximity has on his body. He shivers for Victor’s warm, ticklish breath on his nape when the Russian moves nearer.

“You’ll fall off the bed,” he whines, lips pouting. Yuri can’t see them in the darkness but he has no doubt about. He drifts away a little further.

“Do I smell?” Victor asks abruptly. Yuri can’t help but to turn, facing the other man now sitting with crossed legs while sniffing his arm.

“What?”

“You don’t want to sleep near me. Maybe I don’t smell good.”

Yuri shakes his head, little “no” stuttering from his mouth. He takes Victor's hands in his, stroking gently the golden ring. He brings them to his face, wrists pressed to his nose.

“You smell very good,” he assures, voice trying to sound sure but cracking under the weight of his own embarrassment. Victor chuckles, still not retrieving his hands, telling him about how much he likes when Yuri flatters him.

“It’s true.”

Victor smells of the expensive body lotion he moisturizes himself with every night before bed. He smells of sugared coffee and shoe-wax. Then when all these smells have subdued, he smells like him. Yuri kisses the ring before letting go of the hands.

“What’s the problem, then?” Victor inquires. Yuri lowers his gaze shifting his weight from side to side. He can feel the heat mounting in his cheeks and in his lower abdomen.

“Is just that, I – your presence.”

“Yes?” Victor leans over till his nose almost touches Yuri’s. Instinctively the Japanese spreads his thighs so that his fiancé can better accommodate in the space.

“It arouses me,” he spits out, voice so low Victor has to catch his breath to hear it. Yuri can imagine his smirk against his lips. Victor kisses him lightly, gently but quickly. Yuri backs-off and hides his face in the pillow, growling. He’s a grown-man, not a horny teenager, he shouldn’t get a hard-on only from Victor’s wanting to spoon.

“Really, is this what it was all about?”

Yuri nods, eyes peering from the brim of the pillow, shining in the dark. Then Victor, gentle but firm, makes him putting it down. His hands cup Yuri’s jaw, caressing it kindly. He has warm hands.

“It’s so embarrassing!”

“Yuri, it’s normal. You’re my fiancé, the person I love. I would be deeply offended if me being almost naked next to you wouldn’t cause you this,” Victor smiles, before moving a hand down Yuri’s torso to palm his clothed incipient arousal. Yuri can’t help but to buck his hips forward. Victor’s smile transforms into a grin.

“I like this,” he whispers, before engaging Yuri in another soft kiss. It starts with just a brushing of the lips, then Yuri dares opening his mouth and Victor’s tongue slides in. Yuri’s fingers dig in the hard muscles of the Russian’s lower back. Victor tilts his head in a better angle and cradles the back of Yuri’s just like in Beijing, months ago. He pulls some of Yuri’s hair before parting. A little whine escapes Yuri’s lips.

“Victor,” he pleads, hoping the message would come across without him having to make it explicit. He would rather burn.

“What do you want?” Victor plays dumb. He perfectly knows how much a part of Yuri still worships him, so he can get away with it. Almost.

“Victor!” Yuri’s voice is higher now, almost petulant. He grabs the rim of the T-shirt Victor sleeps in in early spring.

“Do you want me to get you off?” Victor asks, squeezing Yuri’s erection a little through the briefs. Yuri gasps. He would roll his hips if he hadn’t some dignity left.

“Yes and –”

“And?”

“I want you, Victor. Make me yours.”

All his doubts and desires come down in that simple yet deep request. There’s a wondering pause before Victor orders: “Lay down.”

Yuri peels off the jacket of his pyjama and obliges, protesting for the loss of contact when Victor stop palming him to switch on the light and reposition himself better between Yuri’s strong thighs. He traces the waistbands of Yuri’s sweatpants and briefs with his teeth. He grabs them and pulls them down. Yuri lifts his ass to make the job easier. The air of his already sensitive cock makes him shivers.

“I like this,” Victor repeats, pressing his mouth on the shaft.

“Really?”

Yuri is unsure and sassy at the same time, against all logics.

“Yes,” Victor insists, followed by the first, slow strokes. He takes his time, swirling his tongue and kissing here and there. Yuri moans, a half-hiccup at the back of his throat. He tries to push his pelvis toward Victor’s mouth. All of sudden it’s something he needs. So he tries to grab some of Victor’s silver tufts and to pull.

“All right, all right.”

When Victor takes him in his mouth, Yuri’s hips roll and buck forward, nails scratching the mattress. Victor bobs his head, as he strokes his cock and sucks him, almost humming. Yuri’s hands' movements become erratic. Now they are fisting the sheets, now they’re patting Victor’s head. Victor’s mouth is warm, welcoming, wet. He doesn’t gag, he knows how to deal with it. Yuri’s whimpers, spreading his legs further, almost in a frontal split. He’s aware of his own flexibility and can take advantage of it.

A part of him still can’t and probably will never believe what is unravelling in from of his eyes. The person he has idolized since he was a kid, his own inspiration, his love and obsession, is on his knees, giving him a blowjob. Not only that. Victor is _his_. He is his fiancé and he loves him. He has promised to marry him. Is all Yuri has never dared to dream of. It’s all the wishes on a shooting star he has ever made. It’s more than what his imagination could picture. It’s the pleasure and happiness he didn’t even know he wanted.

He whines in surprise when Victor pulls back, before Yuri can get his release. The Japanese immediately panics. “Wait, why? Have I done something wrong?”

Victor denies, giving him a quick kiss to reassure him. Yuri can taste his own, bitter pre-cum on Victor’s lips. He can also feel Victor’s arousal pushing against his inner thigh.

“I want you to come inside me.”

Yuri doesn’t process the words right there. He hears the sounds, yes, and he knows the meaning of each single terms, and still when he puts them together they don’t make sense. Victor waits in expectation. When that something finally switches in Yuri’s head, he blushes a darker shade of pink.

“Did you have just? Did you really?” he stutters. Victor nods, before hiding his face in the crook of Yuri’s neck. He nuzzles at the soft skin. His hands have moved on Yuri’s hipbones, where he traces the muscles with his thumbs.

“Yes,” Victor confirms, open-mouth on Yuri’s Adam apple. The Japanese tilts his head back to give him better access. “Only if you’re comfortable with it,” he adds.

Yuri swallows and pleasure stings from just hearing Victor’s light laughter against his throat.

“I guess yes,” Yuri complies with slow care. “But I’ve never done it before. I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll guide you.”

 

Victor is quick in retrieving a bottle of lube and a condom from the lower drawers of his bedside table. Yuri wonders, in a question he doesn't want to be answered, if Victor has had them already before they met or if he has bought them recently, waiting for the right moment.

Victor slides the condom on Yuri's still hard cock with ease before slipping out of his own briefs and T-shirt. His skin is hot and a little sweaty against Yuri’s.

“Coat your fingers with this,” he instructs, giving Yuri the lube. Yuri obeys, pouring a generous dose on the palm of his hands and soaking his fingers in it. It's cold. Not quite the stingy cold of the ice. It's softer, rounder. It tastes like mint.

When he believes Yuri's done with the lube, Victor presses his forehead against the man's chest, while guiding his wet fingers to his now exposed hole. “Slide one in,” he murmurs. His mouth is open on Yuri's right nipple.

Yuri catches his breath, as he does how Victor has told him. He touches tentatively the rim, circles it with lube-wet fingers. Victor's legs are contracted for the effort of staying still.

“Yuri!” He whines.

In response Yuri tries to insert the first digit in. The lube makes the gesture smooth, but not as smooth as the man would've liked. Victor stiffens. Yuri hears him gasping in discomfort.

He stops immediately, pulling the index out, as an unexpected rush of anxiousness starts to pour over him.

“I can't do this!” Yuri cries. “I can't. I'll hurt you. I'm sure!”

Victor knows enough about Yuri's doubts and low-self esteem to let him rant a little before trying to reassure him. He keeps a soft voice.

“Yuri, you won't hurt me. I've had far worse. I’ve broken my legs, sprained my ankles and once twisted a knee. This is nothing. This is good,” he soothes.

“But. I've heard you and-”

“I need some time to get used to it. It's been a while. So, please, my sweet and over-caring Yuri, don't stop.”

Yuri swallows. He has spent months trying to seduce Victor on the ice; he can take this step further. “Ok.”

He pours some other lube on his fingers and cock, and continues from where he has stopped.

 

One thing Yuri learns soon is that Victor is prone to be vocal. The panting against his shoulder drifts to be a messy blabbering of pleas, Yuri's name, and appreciations on his work. English and Russians words blend together as the man clenches around Yuri's fingers, moaning for both pleasure and distress at the friction. Yuri curls the digits; he can fell Victor’s nails scraping his shoulder blades, his mouth and teeth sucking the skin at the juncture between neck and shoulder.

Victor’s heavier than Yuri, pounding with life and wants. He’s leaning against him with a good portion of his weigh, as he slowly loses control of his own body. Yuri’s almost hears his frantic heartbeat, along with the rush of blood.

When Yuri starts to scissor, Victor emits a low growl in appreciation. His hips snap. His legs curl around Yuri waist, heels digging in his buttocks, to pull him insider.

“Yuri, please!”

Yuri inhales.

It can't be this hard, right? No joke word intended. He has just to align with his fiancé now stretched hole and push in it.

He does it with maddening slowness, not because he wants to tease, but out of fear of making a wrong move. He half pushes inside and half lets Victor to descend on his cock at his own pace. Victor’s inside is hot and tight, despite being slick with lube. It tightens around his arousal as it was trying to hold in it and push it out at the same time. Jolts of pleasure start to travel from the base of Yuri’s cock to his abdomen and back.

“Can I move?”

“It would be time.”

Yuri puts his palms of Victor’s chest, thumbs brushing the nipples, to push him down on the mattress and have a better leverage. Then he pulls his cock out and thrusts back in, quicker this time, not giving himself the time to think about it. Victor squirms. He bends his legs in an almost ninety degree angle, feet waving in the air with no support, as Yuri shoves in, inexperienced and yet so erotic.

Victor encircles Yuri’s upper back with his arms, making him bend so that he can leave open-mouthed, desesperate kisses along the jaw-line and neck. There’s the lewd, sticky sound of skin against skin and Yuri can feel the beads of pre-cum stilling from Victor’s cock trapped between their stomachs. Instinctively he starts to pump it. Victor mutters a word that, after some weeks passed training elbow-to-elbow with Yurio, Yuri is pretty sure is a Russian curse.

Yuri has no experience whatsoever and so his thrusts miss all logic, hardly hitting the spots that would make Victor cry out his very soul. There’s only the in and out, along with Yuri’s unsure strokes to drive both of them mad.

“Wait, Yuri, let me try a thing,” Victor warns him, before using his own weight to switch positions. Now on top, he rides him and in Yuri’s eyes is pure beauty in all his dishevelment. His half-lidden eyes shine with pleasure. His silver bang sticks on his left eyebrow. He has swollen and quivering lips, parted just the little to let out all the delicious moans Yuri is eliciting.

When Victor re-arranges his pelvis to change angle and hit his sweet spot, Yuri can feel it. He can feel in how Victor’s legs shiver, in the throbbing cock under his palm, and in all the sounds he knows are for him and him only.

Sex is not tidy. It’s messy, lewd, unsure. It’s Victor’s hot breath against Yuri’s ear, with Yuri’s still inside him on the verge of his release, whispering those familiar words: “Show me your Eros.”

And Yuri does. His possessive side emerges, stronger with the knowledge that Victor is at his mercy, open in mind, soul and body. Victor is _his._ Yuri remembers the comments at the Cup of China, the athletes chatting with the Russian just to convince him to “abandon the Japanese man”. He’s not worthy of Victor’s time, he has heard them said. He’s only a distraction, a way out for Victor’s inspiration. Words. Just words.

His lips curl in a wicked smile. Victor, _the legend_ , has chosen him. So he thinks that the world must know, with the insolence of the ring that shines with sweat against Victor’s hard cock.

The voices of the past mingle in nothingness when Victor rides him one last time before Yuri reaches his orgasm. It’s the perfect land of a quad flip. A couple of strokes and Victor comes in return, seed sprouting on their bellies. Yuri slides out of him with a little “huff”.

 

“Did I do that right?” Yuri asks soon after, in desperate need of reassurance. Victor rolls next to him, laying on his side, and stretches out a hand to caress Yuri’s cheek with tenderness.

“Yes, just right.”

Yuri is too self-aware – too much self-aware – to know that he was far from perfection. However Victor’s lips against his speak of another story. He can’t help but to smirk, chest light for all the love he’s feeling. He wraps his arms around Victor's chest, head resting on his shoulder.

“We gotta clean this up,” he considers. Victor grunts, raising his wrist to check the watch. It’s that time of the night when it’s too late and too early altogether.

“Can’t we wait till tomorrow morning?”

Yuri shakes his head. “It’s sticky. It’s gross.”

Victor pouts, but slides out of bed anyway. “All right. We need a shower. I go first,” he says, rubbing the sleepiness out of his eyes. Yuri grabs his wrist.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“We should have done this way earlier. Do you want to shower together?”

Yuri pauses a moment in reflection, propped on his elbow. “That sounds like a nice idea!”

**Author's Note:**

> My first smut written completely and directly in English. Yeah.
> 
> Come visit my tumblr: gwen-chan.tumblr.com


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